Page 90 of Borrowing My Bestie's Brothers

“Jesus, if they don’t like you, then what’re they gonna think of me?” Hunter said.

“That doesn’t matter.” It came to me then, something that had been nagging at me for some time but was becoming clearer now. “They don’t matter. Jamie brought us in to try and be a meat shield between her and her family, but…” I stared at each one of my brothers. “They aren’t the ones we need to focus on. It’s her. It’s always been her.”

“You’re seeing things the same way we do,” Brock said. “Jamie’s always hung around our parents’ place more than her own because, on some level, she knows. We’re the family she needs, not the one she got. We have to show her?—”

“That she’s loved.” Hunter swallowed, and for the first time my dickhead brother looked uncomfortable. “That when she’s with the McDonalds, she doesn’t need to do a damn thing but just be and we’ll always love her.”

“So now you’re getting it.” We looked up to see Millie walking in the door, a six pack of beer under her arm. “I was starting to think I was going to have to draw a freaking map for you.”

“A map…?”

We all looked at her as she sat down.

“I’ve sat by and watched this go on because Jamie’s parents moved away, but in some ways, I think this engagement party is the perfect time to bring things to a head. Jamie is a confident, amazing person, right up until she has to deal with her family. She manages this by putting up a wall of bullshit between them and her, hiding who she really is, but I…” She stared at each one of us. “We aren’t satisfied with that, are we?”

I grinned then, seeing the gleam in Millie’s eyes and knowing mine must look the same.

“So what did you have in mind, little sister?”

“I’m glad you asked.”

Chapter 41

Jamie

Walking into work on Monday was a different experience. The last time I’d done so was when I thought this was all fake. I’d still felt a thrill at the possibility of pretending to be Brock’s girlfriend, but now? I walked into a quiet workshop early to find a coffee cup sitting on the bonnet of the car I was working on, steam rising from it in lazy curls. I reached for it, almost able to taste it, when another set of handsgrabbed me. Every muscle stiffened until I heard a deep voice say, “Morning.”

I spun around and saw Brock standing there, just as big, tall, and hot as before. No, worse. He was smiling now, a warm look in his eyes that threatened to heat me up way faster than the coffee.

“Got you your favourite,” he said, nodding to the drink.

“Thanks.” God, this was so bloody awkward. “I’ll get you a coffee tomorrow.”

“No, you won’t.”

“You don’t like coffee?” I peered at him, wondering how that could be true of anyone, but then remembering he drank cups of the shitty instant shit. “Like real coffee. It’ll blow your mind.”

“Don’t need coffee for that.” His low rumble gave me all the warning I needed as he leaned in closer, blocking out the rest of the empty garage. “Give me a kiss every morning and I’ll have one waiting for you. No need to wait in line to order one.”

“Yeah?” Why was my voice so husky? Oh, because my super hot boss was making moves on me. I smiled then and went up on my tiptoes and pecked him on the cheek. “There you go. You know the way I like it.”

“I do.”

His arms went around me, tugging me close so my hands landed on that broad chest, but that didn’t stop him. He bent his head down slowly, my mouth going dry in anticipation. I think part of me had tried to persuade myself that the chemistry wasn’t real, that my whole body didn’t come alight when Brock kissed me, but it did. He started this, but I kissed him right back, chasing that feeling until we heard a jaunty whistle coming from outside the garage. Clinton walked in, saw the two of us spring apart, and then grinned.

“One word and you’ll be shovelling shit out of the grease trap all day,” Brock barked.

“Got it. Got it.” Clinton managed to keep a straight face until Brock turned back to me. I was treated to the sight of him crudely mimicking kissing himself behind his boss, right before Brock drew my attention back to him.

“Just like that,” he told me in a low voice. “Every morning and the coffee is yours.”

I could get my coffee just fine, but damn, who was going to knock that offer back? So I just smiled and nodded, watching him walk away.

“Naughty, naughty—” Clinton started to say.

“Grease trap.”

Those two words were magic, it appeared, because he turned and walked away, ready to start his day.

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